


An Unexpected Turn of Events

by phoenixquest



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Discussion of Past Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, a little fluff, only sort of Fenders, passing rape mention, they're mostly friends right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris goes to meet his sister, only to be ambushed by Danarius. Hawke is ready and willing to give him back to his old master. To everyone's surprise, Anders intervenes - and saves Fenris from being returned to slavery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right so this obviously doesn't follow canon, but I always thought it was ridiculously out of character, the way Anders wants to give Fenris back to Danarius. This is my explanation for it (played up a bit, because this is meant to be the beginning of a relationship with the two of them.) I hope you like it anyway!

“If you want him, he’s all yours.”

Anders looked at Hawke in surprise. He, Hawke, Fenris, and Isabela were all in The Hanged Man, having come at Fenris’ request to meet his sister. Anders had felt it was a trap from the beginning, but he wasn’t sure how much he cared.

Until he’d seen Danarius and his effect on Fenris.

The man cowed the elf, seemingly by his mere presence. It may not have been easily noticeable to most, but Anders could see the hunch of the shoulders, the tension, the way the elf had trouble looking anywhere but the floor. It was the behavior of someone well-broken – and not at all the Fenris he was used to.

“You can’t be serious, Hawke,” Isabela spoke up, her eyes wide with shock. Hawke just shrugged.

“I’ve no more use for him,” she said coolly. “All he does is argue and cause trouble anyway.”

“He’s not _yours_ to _give away_ ,” Anders broke in, surprising even himself. A week ago, he would’ve been happy to see the back of Fenris. Seeing him now, in the presence of this haughty, arrogant man…it gave him an entirely different perspective. Everyone stared at him, none more shocked than Fenris himself.

“What do you care?” Hawke snorted. “You hate him anyway. Come on, Magister,” she said impatiently to Danarius. “What kind of reward are we talking, here?”

Anders was too shocked to speak. He knew that Hawke got along with Fenris about as well as he did, perhaps worse, but this…how could she see him in the presence of this _terrible_ man and think this was right? Anders had never disliked a mage so much on sight; he radiated the same unjust authority as a Templar.

“Interesting,” Danarius said, smirking. “I’ll make it worth your while, of course. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal.”

“I don’t need the Imperium,” Hawke snorted. “I’m talking gold.” Danarius looked surprised, but nodded.

“Don’t do this, Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice desperate. “I need you.” Anders felt his heart clench at this. This was nothing like the Fenris he knew. This elf was scared, broken, hurt.

_This is not justice._

“You’re on your own, Fenris,” Hawke said, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

“Hawke,” Isabela said harshly, but Hawke held up her hand to stop Isabela.

“Save it,” she said. “I’m not arguing this. It’s his _master_ , right? He has every right to his _property_.” She spat the last word like a weapon. Anders was seething now – he knew part of it was Justice, but he was in full agreement with the spirit. He knew Hawke always put money before anything else, but before a man’s freedom?

“What will it be, Fenris?” Danarius said, amused. “Will you throw your life away?” There was a slight pause as Fenris stared at Hawke for a moment longer. His eyes flickered briefly to Anders as though hoping for help, but looked away almost at once, before Anders could say anything.

“No,” Fenris muttered, staring at the floor. Anders could hear the betrayal and hurt in his voice. “I will go with you.”

“Lovely,” Danarius said happily. “Come, my little wolf.”

Anders couldn’t be sure if it was the man’s amusement or the way Fenris submissively followed him, but neither he nor Justice could take it anymore. Flashing blue running over his skin – though as they were of one mind, Justice didn’t entirely take over – Anders stormed over to Danarius, blocking his path.

“No,” Anders said, with a touch of Justice’s deep authority. “You will _not_ take him. This is unjust.”

“And who are you?” Danarius asked, interested but with a coolness to his voice.

“A man who knows the importance of freedom,” Anders growled, blue flickering more forcefully over his skin. “A man who stands for justice!”

“A mage,” Danarius nodded at the blue glow. “Fascinating. Perhaps we could speak about this…trick you’ve picked up?”

“I wouldn’t speak to your rotting corpse,” Anders spat. “Let Fenris go.”

“He chose to come with me,” Danarius said, arching an eyebrow. “You heard him.”

“You…would defend me, mage?” Fenris asked, his voice timid and shocked from behind Danarius. 

“He’s not the only one,” Isabela spoke up forcefully, and she stepped over next to Anders. “So what’ll it be, you bastard? _Will you throw your life away_?” she asked mockingly. Danarius snorted.

“You think me unable to take on a mage and an underdressed woman?” he asked. “Fenris, kill them.”

Anders could see Fenris’ confusion – the piercing green eyes hadn’t left his face. He remembered hearing about the Fog Warriors, how Fenris had killed them all at his master’s command. It looked like he faced the same problem now.

“No,” Fenris finally growled, resolved. “I will not be controlled by you anymore, Danarius!” The magister sighed, turning to face the elf. Before anyone saw it coming, he’d struck Fenris across the face.

“The word,” he said firmly, “is ‘master’.” Anders wasted no time – he immediately cast a crushing prison upon Danarius, and that was all it took for the fight to begin.

Isabela seemed to be everywhere at once, and even Hawke had resignedly joined in. Anders was casting as fast as he was able, then saw Fenris standing where he’d been slapped, the markings on his face glowing where Danarius had hit him. Anders assumed the magister had done something to cause pain beyond simply slapping the elf, and quickly cast a healing spell on him.

“I better not have put my life on the line for you so you can stand there and watch,” Anders snapped, unable to keep the antagonism out of his voice as he addressed Fenris. He deflected a spell aimed at the two of them, and Fenris shot into action in a flash.

The rest of the fight took all of Anders’ focus now, defeating Danarius’ guards and the shades he conjured. Despite the magister’s bravado, he really wasn’t a terribly powerful mage – even with blood magic.

Finally, the fighting stopped; the guards were dead, the shades were no more, and Danarius lay weakened on the floor. A quick glance around told him Hawke had suffered a slash through the shoulder, and Isabela was nursing a leg wound. Fenris seemed to be all right, though he’d fallen. He got to his feet, looking around, his eyes landing on Anders. His face was unreadable.

“Go on, then,” Anders said, nodding toward Danarius. “Finish the job.” Fenris didn’t waste another moment, walking over to Danarius and plunging his fist into the man’s chest. Anders wondered if he regretted giving Fenris that talent now, but felt a vicious pleasure in watching it.

“You are no longer my master,” Fenris growled, sounding much more like the elf Anders had always known now. Danarius cried out as Fenris crushed his heart, letting the magister fall to the floor a moment later. He sneered at the corpse before looking around. “Where’s _Varania_?”

“Ran off when the fighting started,” Isabela said tightly, trying to stem the bleeding in her leg. “Sparklefingers, a little help?”

“Of course,” Anders said, hurrying over to her. The blue cracks had faded now, though he still felt enraged. Justice had been done; the man treating Fenris as property was dead, but there was still Hawke. He healed Isabela’s wound without trouble, turning to find Fenris right behind him.

“Why did you do that?” Fenris demanded, sounding far more confused than angry.

“Heal her? It’s what I do,” Anders said coolly.

“You know what I mean, mage,” Fenris growled. Anders sighed, a little tired from the fight and not really wanting to argue with the elf right then.

“I’m not a monster, however much you want to believe I am,” Anders said, shaking his head wearily. “You deserve your freedom as much as any mage.”

“Was that you, or your dem- …spirit?” Fenris said, changing his word halfway through.

“Both,” Anders said, a little surprised the elf had bothered to care about the distinction. “Slavery is wrong.” Fenris didn’t seem to know what else to say.

Hawke came up to them then, looking angry. She’d bandaged the wound in her arm herself, apparently, but still had her sword drawn.

“You cost me my money,” she said, glaring at Anders.

“Money is more important than a man’s life? His freedom?” Anders growled. “I knew you were cruel, Hawke, but I didn’t know you were _that_ cruel.”

“I think it’s time you and your _spirit_ be put down,” Hawke snapped. “You’ve lost control of him.”

“I was of one mind with him over this, Hawke,” Anders said, eyes narrowed. “What you were doing was _wrong_. Fenris is a person, not anyone’s property, and certainly not yours!”

“Since when are _you_ so in love with him?” Hawke asked. “Pathetic!” She raised her sword, clearly intending to bring it down on him. He had a moment of panic – he was low on mana and didn’t know if he could take more of a fight at the moment – but Fenris grabbed her arm and shoved her away.

“ _You_ will not touch him,” Fenris snarled. She looked at him with wide eyes, a hint of fear in them as his markings flared. “I suggest you leave.” She wrenched her arm away from him, glaring, but didn’t seem to feel like she ought to challenge him. She walked out the door, muttering about stupid mages, leaving just the three of them in the room. There was a short, awkward silence.

“I think I’ll head upstairs,” Isabela spoke up tiredly. “I think I could use a bit of a nap after that. Not to mention a drink.” She turned to Fenris. “I’m sorry for what happened,” she said, her voice soft. “I would have never thought Hawke would do such a thing.”

“Thank you for coming to my aid,” Fenris said gratefully. “It is…appreciated.” She gave him a small smile before walking off.

“Are you all right?” Anders asked Fenris when they were alone. “Do you need healing?”

“No,” Fenris said, giving him an odd look. “I managed to keep out of the way.”

“Why are you staring at me?” Anders sighed. “I’m not going to turn into an abomination.”

“I – I know,” Fenris said hesitantly. “Just…” he trailed off, not seeming to know how to finish. Anders gave him a moment. “Thank you,” he finally finished, his voice nearly inaudible. “I…did not expect your assistance.” Anders relaxed a little, giving the elf a small smile.

“I didn’t expect to assist you, to be honest,” Anders said. “I must be going soft in my old age.” Fenris gave a low laugh, then sighed, staring at the floor again.

“I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong. My past was my sister, and she…”

“Turned you in,” Anders said softly. “I…can understand. A little.” Fenris snorted, though it wasn’t malicious, just disbelieving.

“There is nothing left to reclaim,” he said, his voice heavy. “I am alone.”

This time, there was no rage pushing Anders, no Justice speaking up in the back of his mind. He simply found that he _wanted_ to. He reached out and put a hand gently on Fenris’ arm.

“You’re not alone,” Anders said softly. “You have Isabela, and Varric, and Aveline. Donnic. Merrill,” he added, knowing the elf didn’t care much more for her than he did Anders. Fenris was staring at the hand on his arm, then looked up at Anders, something in his eyes that Anders couldn’t quite read.

“And you,” he added, almost a question. Anders gave a little laugh.

“And me, apparently,” he agreed. “Who’d have ever thought?” He removed his hand, feeling a bit self-conscious.

“I should go,” Fenris said. “I – will see you later, I suppose.” It was awkward – the two of them didn’t quite know how to be polite to one another. But Fenris was trying, and Anders would, too.

“Of course,” Anders nodded, offering a small smile. Fenris smiled back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders goes to check on Fenris after the fight with Danarius. Things don't really go like he expected them to. Revelations are had with a side of wine and angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT whoops what have I done. It seems this muse had a little bit more left for the time being! (I can't promise I'll ever write anything else about these two, but I *do* have vague ideas for more one-shot type stories, so we will see...but again, no promises.)  
> This chapter gets a liiiitttle bit shippier at the end, but they're still mostly trying to figure out how to be nice around each other, so it's nothing too explicit. I feel a bit weird even having tagged this as Fenders now, because it's not much more than friendship at this point, but...eh. Enjoy!  
> (Possible trigger warnings for rape mention, abuse mention. It's not explicitly discussed but it is talked about a little.)

Anders honestly wasn’t even sure what he was doing there. It was _madness_ , going to visit Fenris. Sure, the elf had been nice earlier, but that didn’t mean anything. Indecisive as to whether he should even bother knocking or just go home, Anders stood at the door while chilly rain soaked him through.

On the one hand, he wanted to make sure the elf was… _okay_. And that Hawke hadn’t done anything awful. On the other hand…well, they certainly couldn’t be called _friends_. Anders had to admit he had a better understanding of Fenris now; he’d been a little unfair, judging the elf so harshly for his hatred of mages. After meeting Danarius, he could certainly understand the reasoning. Even with that, though – it didn’t _change_ how Fenris hated mages.

Sighing, deciding he’d already come this far, he went ahead and knocked. The rain was chilling him as he stood, anxiously wondering whether the door would even open. It seemed an eternity that he waited, but finally, the door creaked open, two angry green eyes peering around it.

“Oh,” Fenris said, turning from angry to surprised at the sight of the soaking wet mage. “Mage. Can I – ah – what do you want?”

“Er…to check on you,” Anders said, feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden. “Make sure Hawke hadn’t sold you off,” he went on with a forced laugh, cringing the next moment as he realized what he’d said. The anger returned to Fenris’ eyes at that. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. It was a stupid – “

“Stop your babbling, mage,” Fenris huffed. He opened the door wider, standing aside. “Come in and stop dawdling in the rain.” Anders froze in disbelief for a moment before he could manage to follow Fenris’ invitation.

“Thanks,” Anders said, walking in and hearing Fenris shut the door behind him. “So...I really didn’t mean that to come out the way it did,” he said, determined to be honest with the elf. Perhaps they’d never be friends, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try to be _nicer_.

“It hardly matters,” Fenris shrugged, glowering at the floor. “You’re not the only one to suspect her of doing it.”

“What’s – is – is something wrong?” Anders asked hesitantly. Was he really standing here in Fenris’ entryway, trying to get the elf to open up to him? This was some bizarre dream, surely.

“Pfaugh,” Fenris sneered, kicking at the floor. “It doesn’t matter. The answer to your question is no, however,” he added, suddenly seeming tired, as though he’d been angry for too long. “No one has _sold_ me. And I am…fine.”

“So you’re just angry because I’m standing in your house?” Anders asked lightly. “All right, fair enough. I’ll go.”

“No,” Fenris barked, looking up at him. “That is not what I mean. I am not angry with _you_ , mage.” He paused, giving Anders the same odd look he had at The Hanged Man earlier in the day. “Would you like a drink?”

“Er - ?” Anders said dumbly, having expected just about anything but that. “I mean – yes. Sure.”

“Remove your wet coat and boots,” Fenris ordered. “I don’t want my house soaked.” Anders rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked, leaving himself in a thin tunic and trousers. He then took a good look around.

It had been years since he’d been in the elf’s house; the last time, it was filthy, falling apart, and littered with corpses. Fenris hadn’t seemed inclined to do anything at all about it. Now, though – it was almost like a different house. Clean, fixed up, and quite nice.

“Wow,” Anders said, following Fenris through to the living room, where a fire was going in front of a cozy-looking sofa. “This is – this looks great, Fenris.” The elf looked taken aback, but Anders caught a glimpse of what could have been a smile.

“It was Varric’s insistence,” Fenris shrugged. “You know of his connections. He pointed out that I was living like a man on the run, not as a free man…and he was correct. So I let him…fix that.” Fenris’ eyes narrowed then, glaring toward the mage. “I will tolerate no derogatory remarks about my freedom or otherwise.”

“I wasn’t going to make any,” Anders said shortly, annoyed. He’d been nice so far, after all, hadn’t he? 

Fenris didn’t respond, just walked over to the shelf along the wall and pulled down a bottle of wine, grabbing two glasses off the shelf as well. Anders couldn’t help marveling at just how neat and organized and _clean_ everything was. Did it extend to the rest of the house as well?

“I know your…spirit will not let you drink,” Fenris said in a more civil voice as he sat down on the sofa, gesturing for Anders to join him. “But perhaps a single glass of wine would be permitted?” Anders could feel Justice’s displeasure at the idea, but ignored it; he knew the spirit would allow it, even if he disliked it.

“He doesn’t like it if I get _drunk_ ,” Anders corrected. “ _A_ drink won’t be a problem.” He watched Fenris pour the wine. “I did mean it, you know,” he said after a pause, without having really considered the words. “The house looks great. And Varric _was_ right.” Fenris glanced at him sharply, trying to detect mocking, but seemed amazed at the mage’s sincerity. He handed a glass to Anders before taking one himself.

“To…” Fenris started to toast, but trailed off, unable to think what he might toast to.

“To freedom,” Anders threw in at once. “In all its forms.” Fenris considered him for a moment, and then clinked his glass against Anders’.

“To freedom, then,” he agreed, and they both took a drink. They were both silent for a while, staring into the fire. Anders expected it to be awkward, but there was something strangely comfortable about it.

“Why were you so willing to go with that bastard earlier?” Anders said suddenly, cursing himself again. He was not doing well at the whole thinking-before-speaking thing this evening. Fenris was quiet, though he didn’t seem offended; he just seemed to be thinking over his answer.

“I saw little purpose in throwing my life away,” Fenris answered slowly. “Danarius had his guards, Hawke had already proven her disloyalty, and you…well, I expected Hawke’s betrayal more than I did _your_ support. I am not stupid; I could never have won that fight.”

“You’d have had a good shot at it,” Anders remarked. _He_ wasn’t stupid, either; he’d seen the elf fight countless times. Fenris gave a low chuckle.

“Perhaps,” he nodded. “At any rate, after what Hawke said…” he trailed off, his voice suddenly vulnerable. “I wasn’t sure I…deserved my freedom after all.” The last part was said so quietly Anders had to strain to hear it, and when he registered the words, he stared at Fenris, startled.

“ _Everyone_ deserves freedom,” Anders said firmly. “No one should be forced under the command of another.”

“Perhaps I have misread you, mage,” Fenris murmured, glancing over at Anders. “This…earlier…none of it has been what I expected of you.” Anders shrugged, reddening.

“Well, you weren’t wrong,” he admitted. “This time yesterday I would’ve been glad to be rid of you, however it happened.” Fenris snorted.

“ _That_ is more like the mage I expected,” he said, but there was no malice in it.

“I’ve always been against imprisonment,” Anders explained. “I have always thought we all deserve freedom – I’m just…well. More focused on mages. But seeing _him_ – he’s no better than a damn Templar. Unjustly seized power, using it to control and abuse other people. It’s…not that different.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fenris growled, suddenly annoyed again. “You know nothing of the life of a slave. You speak of _abuse_ – do you have _any_ idea what a magister will do to his slave, deserved or not? Being locked up in a huge tower may not have been pleasant, mage, but don’t you dare try to tell me it was _abuse_.”

“You think I’m fighting like this, risking my neck, because I couldn’t _walk outside_ when I wanted to?” Anders snapped, enraged. “You think this is about nothing more than locked doors? Mages are _beaten_ , Fenris! Raped! Tortured! Don’t _you_ dare try to tell me that’s not abuse!”

“Beaten!” Fenris mocked, getting to his feet with his hands curled into fists, the wine forgotten on the table. “Tell me, mage, _tell me_ how _terrible_ it was to have your mouth smacked for being insolent!”

“You – aggghhh!” Anders roared, thoroughly angry. He yanked his tunic off, nearly tearing it in his haste, and turned his back to the elf. “’Have your mouth smacked’ my ass. Do you know what it takes to make scars that deep? Do you know how many lashes of a whip it takes to _leave_ that many marks? Do you understand what it means that they are still so visible, all these years later?!” He was breathing hard, his anger fueling him, but Fenris didn’t say anything.

Anders gave it a few moments, still hearing nothing from the elf, before he turned back around, his eyes blazing. He was rather taken aback to find Fenris not glaring in hatred, but staring in shock, his mouth slightly open.

“I…” Fenris said, his voice strangled, but couldn’t seem to go on. Anders huffed and put his shirt back on, feeling rather self-conscious then. He’d never really shown anyone that before, and he certainly hadn’t expected Fenris to be the first.

“This isn’t about petty punishments,” Anders said, his voice rough but calmer. “I am not whining about a time-out, or a slap to the face. I know what abuse is. And I’m one of the luckier ones.”

“Lucky?” Fenris asked in almost a whisper.

“Talked to Alain down at the Gallows recently?” Anders said harshly. “Karras threatens him when he comes to his room. You heard Alrik,” he added, wincing a little as he brought it up when he knew he shouldn’t. “You heard what he said to that girl, Ella. What he planned for her.”

“That’s…that’s right,” Fenris said, remembering. “I’d forgotten.” He didn’t chastise Anders again about the incident, which surprised him. “This…happens regularly?”

“Yes,” Anders said, less angry now. “Yes. Beatings. Rape. At least I haven’t heard of anyone else being put in solitary for a year. That’s something.”

“Solitary?” Fenris asked. 

“Solitary confinement,” Anders answered impatiently. “Lock you up by yourself, no one to speak with.”

“I understand the concept,” Fenris snapped, but his next words were calmer. “A _year_? Was that…you?”

“Yes,” Anders nodded. “They got tired of me escaping, and when the whip didn’t deter me...”

“I…” Fenris cleared his throat. “I apologize, mage. I did not understand.”

“Yeah, well, neither does anyone else,” Anders snorted hopelessly. “And they certainly don’t _care_ , even if they are told. We _deserve_ it, after all, don’t we? Because we’re _dangerous_.” He sighed, deciding he should just go. This was pointless; he’d already seen for himself that Fenris was all right, and Hawke hadn’t done anything to him. That was why he’d come, and he didn’t feel like having the same fight again.

“No,” Fenris said softly. “No. You don’t.” Anders turned back to look at the elf, eyes wide. Fenris was staring at him as though he’d never really seen him before. “Though I still can’t say I wouldn’t wish it upon Danarius.” Anders couldn’t help it – the anger slid out of him and he laughed.

“I’d find it hard to fight you about that,” Anders acquiesced. He shook his head. “I didn’t intend to come here and fight about mages tonight. Really. I just – I did want to make sure you were all right, after earlier, and that Hawke hadn’t…done anything awful. I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to,” Fenris said, his voice unsure. “Your company is…pleasant.” Anders stared at him.

“Did I just hear that right?” Anders asked incredulously. “You find my company _pleasant_? What, did you just have a high dragon over for dinner or something?”

“Worse,” Fenris said with a seemingly-forced smirk. “A Hawke.”

“Oh,” Anders replied. He watched as Fenris sat back down on the sofa; it didn’t seem like the elf wanted him to leave, so he sat back down, too. “That’s why you looked so angry.”

“Yes,” Fenris muttered, glaring at the fire. “She left not long before you got here.”

“What did she want?” Anders asked, bristling. “Did she not do enough damage earlier?”

“She – well,” Fenris said with a somewhat awkward smile at Anders, “first she wanted to know what was going on between us.” Anders chuckled, feeling much lighter than he had just a few moments ago. Perhaps he _could_ like being friends with Fenris.

“And you told her what? That we’d both temporarily lost our minds?”

“Hah. Not quite. I simply said that it appeared you had better morals than she did…and I wasn’t about to let her kill you for it.” There was a sincerity in Fenris’ words that sent warmth through Anders.

“Bet she took that well.”

“She got angry,” Fenris nodded. “I didn’t allow her to bully me, and we fought. She said I ought to leave, as there was nothing to keep me in Kirkwall any longer.”

“Well, Danarius _is_ dead,” Anders said fairly. He couldn’t help a pang of disappointment, though; after all this time, it seemed like the two might be starting to get along, to understand one another. He wouldn’t like to see the elf leave _now_. “There’s no reason you couldn’t go anywhere you wanted.”

“Where _would_ I go?” Fenris asked. “I have nowhere. No past to revisit.”

“Maybe that just means there’s nothing holding you back,” Anders suggested. Fenris considered this.

“Perhaps it is time to move forward,” he agreed. “I just don’t know where that leads.”

“No one does,” Anders replied softly. “I definitely don’t. We could all be dead tomorrow. The Templars could find me tonight.” He shuddered at the thought. “You could decide you’ve had enough being nice and kill me where I sit.” Fenris smirked.

“I don’t think your spirit friend would allow that,” he commented. “But point taken.” He sighed. “The future of a slave is never uncertain. But I am no longer a slave. Perhaps it is time I remembered that.”

“It is,” Anders said firmly. “You’re a free man. _You_ decide your future. It’s not up to anyone else.”

“And what if I have no idea what to decide?” Fenris asked.

“Then stay here for a while,” Anders shrugged. “You have friends here, after all, and a place to live. A place of your own,” he added pointedly. “Maybe you’ll decide to leave someday. Maybe you won’t. But you’re free to make that choice…and not on anyone’s time but your own.” He could hear how wistful he sounded as he spoke.

“You’re being very supportive,” Fenris observed.

“I’m not always an ass,” Anders said with a small smile. “Seeing Danarius today…his hold over you, even when you’ve claimed for years to be a free man…it was eye-opening. I still say we’re not all like that – _most_ of us, even, especially outside Tevinter. But I understand a little better now.”

“That much is obvious,” Fenris admitted. “If you were anything like him, you never would’ve stepped up for my sake, not without personal gain. You don’t know what he offered you, by asking to speak with you about your magic. Passing that up…no mage I knew would’ve done so.”

“I don’t really care what he offered,” Anders said, his voice hard as he remembered the magister’s proposal. “I wanted nothing to do with anyone who thinks it’s okay to _own_ people.”

“Whatever I think of mages…you have my gratitude,” Fenris said, locking his eyes on Anders’. “You were willing to fight for me when I had given up the idea of fighting for myself. There is…no one,” he admitted, sounding forlorn, “no one that I know who would’ve done the same for me.”

“I did what was right,” Anders said awkwardly. It was strange to hear this from the elf. “And anyway, you stopped Hawke trying to kill me. You deserve thanks, as well.”

“Yet none are forthcoming,” Fenris said, arching an eyebrow. It took Anders a moment to realize the elf was joking, and he grinned.

“I heard a rumor that you had a sense of humor,” Anders chuckled. “Never believed it.” Fenris rolled his eyes, but seemed amused. Anders went on in a much more serious tone. “Really though, thank you. I assumed you’d agree with Hawke, honestly.”

“I assumed the same,” Fenris smirked. “But after your support…and then healing me so I could fight…I had to do what was right, as well.”

“I wanted to ask you about that,” Anders said with interest. “That was clearly more than just a slap to the face. What did he do to you?” Fenris grimaced. “You don’t have to tell me,” Anders went on quickly. “I was only curious.”

“His magic worked uniquely with my markings,” Fenris explained. “His touch could provide either pleasure or immense pain within them, depending on his intentions. I am sure you can guess which it most often was.”

“Ah,” Anders said, almost wishing he hadn’t asked. “So that’s why you never really liked me healing you.”

“It…reacted with the markings,” Fenris said, frowning in thought. “It’s difficult to explain. Healing didn’t… _hurt_ , exactly. It was something of a relief, usually. But it was as though the magic tugged on them…and it was enough to cause discomfort. It was all remembered pain, but it’s as though they caused pain so often that another feeling wasn’t possible. It’s why they ache occasionally, magic or no.”

“I see,” Anders frowned. “And earlier, when I cast that healing spell on you – did that hurt?”

“No,” Fenris shook his head. “Especially after his touch caused such pain, the healing was much appreciated.”

“I’ll try to be careful, in the future,” Anders promised. “Er…if I’m ever around when you need healing, that is.”

“Thank you,” Fenris said with a small smile. Anders was beginning to find it endearing, the way one corner of the elf’s mouth would turn up more than the other.

“Well,” Anders said, sitting up straight and trying to get that thought out of his head – what was he _doing_? Mooning over the mage-hating elf? “It’s late, and I think we’ve reopened enough old wounds for one night.”

“Agreed,” Fenris nodded. “Though…I did enjoy talking with you, mage.” Anders grinned.

“I liked it, too,” he acknowledged. “Who knew we could get along if we bothered to stop being at each other’s throats for five minutes?”

“Just don’t tell Varric or Isabela,” Fenris said wryly. “We’ll be in their next book.”

“I’d be amazed if we weren’t already, to be honest,” Anders chuckled. “I’ll get going. But…maybe we could do this again sometime? You know – sit and talk to one another like civilized people?”

“I could agree to that,” Fenris nodded.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Anders smiled, feeling much happier than he would’ve expected as he got to his feet. He’d almost reached the door to the entryway when Fenris spoke again.

“Mage?”

“Yeah?” Anders turned back to him curiously, and was surprised to see Fenris blushing slightly in the firelight.

“It is still raining,” Fenris said. “And as you said, it is late. You could…stay here. If you wished. There’s plenty of room.” Anders’ eyes widened at the unexpected invitation.

“I don’t want to push my luck,” he said lightly. “I’ll be all right.” Fenris frowned.

“It is dangerous for you to go all the way back to Darktown alone, this time at night,” Fenris insisted. “I would not have offered were I not sincere.” Suddenly, Anders understood. Fenris _wanted_ him to stay.

And Maker damn him, but he wanted it, too.

“All right,” Anders said with a somewhat shy smile. He could feel Justice pushing – the spirit wanted them to go back to the clinic – but Fenris did have a point. It _would_ be dangerous, and it _was_ raining, and…well, it was quite cozy and warm inside the house, and he couldn’t deny he would prefer a warm, dry bed over his clinic for a change. “I appreciate it, Fenris. Thank you.”

The elf showed him to one of the many guest rooms, and Anders cleaned up a bit – more than he had in some time, truthfully – and slipped between the soft sheets. It was a damn sight nicer than his cot in Darktown, that was certain. No expense had been spared to make this house nice again, it seemed.

He was happy for Fenris, really. The elf had a measure of freedom that Anders himself couldn’t yet enjoy…maybe never would. But rather than be bitter about it, like he undoubtedly would have in the past, he felt a strange _comfort_ at the idea. Maybe if this former slave could have his freedom…just maybe mages could, too.


End file.
